Trapped (11 page)

“G
o!” Luke urged Han. “I'll plant the detonators. You help Leia.”

Han was already in motion. The Rebel strike forces had camouflaged themselves in the wooded hills surrounding the garrison. Now their hiding place was lit up by exploding grenades and bolts of laserfire crackling through the trees. It had been an ambush, and the Rebel forces were surely overpowered. There was no chance that Han's presence would turn the tide, even with the fragmentation grenades tucked into his belt beside his backup blaster. If he was smart, he'd just walk away, save his own skin while he had the chance. But he didn't hesitate to plunge into the smoky battle.

Chewbacca was in there somewhere.

Leia was in there.

It was total chaos. Laserfire shot through the thick haze of smoke. The nahtival trees were on fire. The branches crackled as they burned, and flaming leaves fluttered through the air, igniting small patches of zura-grass. The Rebels and the stormtroopers seemed to be firing blindly, desperate to hit someone—anyone.

There were at least twice as many stormtroopers as there were Rebels. Han bashed the nearest one in the back of the head and pushed forward into the center of the mess.

Laserfire peppered the trees. “Chewie!” Han shouted, catching sight of the Wookiee surrounded by four stormtroopers. Chewbacca grabbed one in each hand and swung them like a stun baton into the others. The Imperials went down in a grunting heap.

“Get down, buddy!” Han shouted as a stormtrooper perched in a tree began shooting at the Wookiee. Han whipped his blaster into action and took him out with a single shot to the head. The Imperial toppled to the ground, landing with a clatter on two of his allies.

Chewbacca roared in gratitude, already turning toward a couple of Rebels pinned down by a circle of troopers. Han was charging in to help when a blast of laserfire shot past, singeing his shoulder. He flinched, whipping around to return fire. But his assailant was already down. Leia stood over the body. She snatched the trooper's fallen blaster rifle and tossed it to Han.

“Behind you!” she cried.

Han snatched the rifle out of the air as he spun around, now firing with both hands at the approaching stormtroopers. Three toppled over. But another burst of laserfire pelted his leg. He staggered, trying to ignore the pain.

“Took you long enough,” Leia said with false cheer. She and Han positioned themselves back to back, spraying laserfire at any Imperials who came too close. Bodies in white armor littered the ground, but they lay side by side with fallen Rebels. Too many of them. “Where's Luke?”

“He went in,” Han said.

“You let him go alone?” Leia shouted. She blasted a stormtrooper, but from the tone of her voice, Han suspected she had another target in mind.

“Excuse me if I thought you could use a little
help
here,” Han growled as the air split with the roaring engine of an approaching Imperial airspeeder. Han lobbed one of his fragmentation grenades, and the speeder exploded in midair, showering the battle with fiery shards of durasteel.

“We should go help him,” Leia said.

“After you,” Han drawled, gesturing toward the circle of stormtroopers surrounding them. It seemed that the more they felled, the more reinforcements appeared. It was impossible: no escape, no retreat, and no helping Luke. “Don't worry, the kid can handle himself.”

“I hope you're right,” Leia said.

I'd better be,
Han thought. An explosion in the heart of the garrison might just send the stormtroopers into a panicked retreat.

Otherwise...well, he had two blasters, six rounds of ammunition, an angry Wookiee, and an even angrier princess on his side. He just hoped it would be enough.

Luke strode down a corridor filled with Imperial officers, keeping his eyes straight ahead and trying to pretend he belonged. They barely glanced at him, their eyes noting his maintenance uniform, then skimming over him as if he was an inanimate object. He couldn't understand why his presence hadn't raised an alarm. Was it possible that X-7 hadn't betrayed them? That something else had revealed the Rebel presence to the Empire?

Possible, maybe, but Luke didn't buy it. Something else was going on here.

But while he tried to figure out what, he made his way as casually as possible to the primary arsenal hold, where the majority of the weapons were stored. He still had the thermal detonators; he still had a mission. His friends were counting on him to complete it. Belazura was counting on him.

He had memorized the blueprints. The garrison was a mazelike fortress, its twisting passageways turning in on themselves and dead-ending without warning. It had been designed to confuse its occupants, even the ones with top secret clearance—because there was always something even
more
top secret. The Empire thrived on secrecy, even the highest officers operating in ignorance of the Emperor's true plans. The garrison had been designed with that philosophy in mind. As Luke wound his way deeper and deeper into the heart of the building, he began to wonder if he'd ever make it out.

X-7's security codes ushered him through checkpoint after checkpoint. Luke remained certain he was walking into a trap, but there was nothing to do but keep going. He reached the access point to the weapons arsenal. Two stormtroopers manned the door. “Authorized personnel only,” one of them informed him.

“I am authorized,” Luke said, offering the security card that had helped him through the other checkpoints. He noted the security pad over the door. It wasn't a keypad, like the others he'd seen. This one required a handprint.

The guards didn't move to let him pass. “You don't have clearance.”

Pulling out a blaster would only alarm them. But the hilt of his deactivated lightsaber looked like an innocent piece of durasteel. Harmless. He gripped it, ready.

“No one enters without level-four clearance,” the stormtrooper said. “No maintenance.”

“But I have—”

“This is TBR-312,” the stormtrooper said into his comlink. “Unauthorized personnel—”

Luke flung his arm out, activating the lightsaber as it swung toward the stormtrooper. The comlink dropped from his hand. His counterpart swiveled a blaster toward Luke. But Luke was already diving for the floor. He somersaulted toward the first stormtrooper, slashing with a smoother, upward jab, just as Div had taught him. It sliced through the white plastoid armor, and the stormtrooper dropped.

Luke leapt immediately back to his feet and jumped away from the other trooper's blasts. He struggled to get close enough to land a blow, but the laserfire kept him on the defensive.

Remember what Div taught you,
he thought.

Luke spun and leapt into the air, slashing the beam with a diagonal thrust. The stormtrooper stumbled backward, firing blindly. Luke intercepted the beam, angling the blade to deflect the bolt back at the stormtrooper. It slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground. He clutched once at his scorched armor and then was still.

Luke removed the stormtrooper's glove and pressed the trooper's hand to the palm-recognition security interface. The door slid open, revealing a massive chamber at least fifty meters wide and three stories high. Laser cannons, heavy turbolasers, and concussion missiles were stockpiled everywhere. As the Rebels had guessed, this was the perfect spot. Luke dragged the stormtroopers' bodies into the room and shut the door again. Then he fumbled with the toolbox, pulling out the detonators.

The Imperial comlink crackled to life. “Report, TBR-312. What is the situation?”

“No situation,” Luke said quickly into the comlink. “Everything is under control.”

It wouldn't hold them off for long. He began planting the detonators, carefully choosing the largest of the weapons stockpiles. He worked quickly, setting the timer for fifteen minutes rather than the planned thirty. It would give him less time to escape—but better to be caught in the blast than give the Imperials enough time to discover and defuse the charges.

Maybe it was inevitable that the Imperials would catch him. But by the time they did, it would be too late.

X-7 stalked his prey like a manka cat. Stealthy and silent as a shadow, he trailed Luke Skywalker, waiting for his moment.

Div was dead. Up in the hills, the Rebel forces were, even now, being slaughtered like a herd of banthas. And now just a single loose end remained—one mission that belonged to him alone. Skywalker was the first target who had avoided his attack. That had been the beginning of all this. The failure to kill Skywalker had put X-7 on a collision path with his disgusting human emotions, his disgusting human past. And since Skywalker had been the beginning, he would also be the end.

X-7 hadn't tipped the Empire off to the Rebels' entire plan. He'd given them the coordinates of the hidden Rebels. But he'd led them away from Skywalker. This kill was his.

As slow and clumsy as he was, the Rebel had managed to make his way into the arsenal. The giant chamber stored hundreds of weapons: mines, ion cannons, turbo-lasers—everything the Empire could ever need to subdue a planet. If any of the Rebels had had brains in their heads, they would have realized that
stealing
the weapons would be far more efficient than
destroying
them. But of course, the Rebels never thought; they just acted. It was why they were doomed to lose. Luke was determined to destroy the garrison and the weapons it housed—and he'd chosen exactly the right spot. Even a small explosion would touch off an inferno. It would be enough firepower to take down the entire building. Perfect for Skywalker's purposes.

It would also be enough noise—massive load-lifter droids restocking the weaponry—to cover X-7's footsteps as he crept along the catwalk far overhead.

Perfect for X-7's purposes.

X-7 readied his laser rifle. Took aim.
No one to save you this time,
he thought, watching Luke's tiny figure through the scope.
This time, you die.

X
-7's finger twitched toward the trigger.

Div launched himself at X-7, knocking him off balance. They tumbled to the ground. X-7's blast rifle flew out of his hand. He slammed a fist into Div's shoulder, jabbing it squarely into Div's wound. Div clenched his teeth, trying to ignore the pain, but his shoulder spasmed. X-7 hit the wound again, harder, and shoved him aside. Div struggled to fight back, but his strength was failing.

And then a glowing blade slashed down. X-7 threw himself out of the way just in time. Ferus struck again.

“I know what you are,” X-7 gasped, springing to his feet and moving out of the way of the beam. “I've always known. You don't scare me, Jedi.”

Ferus advanced, lightsaber raised. “I should.”

Furious at his weakness, Div could do nothing but watch the fierce battle play out. Far below them, Luke had already finished setting the thermal detonators.
Escape while you still can,
Div urged him silently. But even if Div had shouted it, Luke never would have heard him over the thunder of the machinery.

Ferus slashed at X-7 with the blue blade. X-7 jumpedsidestepped out of the way, and suddenly, the assassin produced a lightwhip, crackling with deadly laser energy. He flicked it at Ferus, who leapt over the snakelike rope and somersaulted along the catwalk.

“Not bad, old man,” X-7 said. “But not good enough.” Swinging the whip in a deadly arc with one hand, he wielded a blaster with the other. The weapon sent a wide spray of laserfire at Ferus, who was trapped against the railing with no cover. He slipped between the bursts of laserfire with nearly impossible speed and agility, then nimbly hopped onto the railing and balanced on the five-centimeter-wide durasteel.

X-7 released an icy chuckle and struck out with the whip, trying to knock Ferus off his perch. But Ferus used the height to his advantage, his lightsaber bearing down on X-7's arm. X-7 stifled a cry of pain and dropped the blaster. A bloody stain spread across his shirt. He went into a frenzy, hacking and slashing with his good arm. The whip whistled through the air. It caught Ferus on the leg, only a light blow, but enough to knock him off balance. He toppled backward—and disappeared from sight.

Div gasped.

X-7 laughed again. It was a hard, inhuman noise, like grinding gears. He leaned over the railing. Div didn't want to imagine what X-7 saw below. Ferus's broken body, smashed on the duracrete.

“Where are you, old man?” X-7 sounded surprised.

He turned around—just in time to see Ferus spring over the opposite edge of the catwalk, his lightsaber pointed straight at X-7's heart.

His aim was true.

X-7 dropped to the ground, his eyes glassy, his body limp. Blood pooled beneath him. He gasped, as if he couldn't draw enough air. But then his rasping grew louder. He was trying to speak. It was just two syllables, soft but clear.

“Div. Please.”

Div looked at Ferus, who offered no guidance. So against his better judgment, Div approached the fallen assassin. He knelt by X-7's side. “What is it?”

He hated the man for what he'd done—to the Rebels, to Luke, to himself. But more, he hated what the man represented. To the end, he'd been a tool of the Empire. A ruthless killer who served other ruthless killers. A symbol of the darkness that shadowed Div's life.

It shouldn't have mattered that for a few days, he'd been something else.

“Brother,” X-7 gasped.

Div shook his head.

“My brother. Tell me. You are.” With a mighty effort, X-7 slid his body up along the wall, until he was in a half-sitting position. Before he could speak again, his body was racked by a spasm of coughing. He leaned over, spit out a mouthful of phlegm and blood. “I need to know,” he said in a clearer voice. His chest heaved. “Before I die. Need to know who I was. If I was someone. That I...” X-7 trailed off, his eyes fluttering shut. For a moment, Div thought that was it. The end. But then the eyes opened again, wide and rimmed with red. “I mattered to someone. Need to know.”

Trever mattered,
Div thought fiercely.
He's been dead for ten years, while you lived. You lived and you killed.

The man deserved to die alone, broken, without comfort. How dare he ask Div for anything? How dare he expect sympathy,
pity
after all he'd done?

And yet...

“You mattered to someone,” Div said. “You were someone, once.” Because that was true. Someone had been born, had a mother, a father, maybe a brother. Someone had been taken by the Empire, had his memories scrubbed away. Turned into a killer. Maybe it wasn't Trever—but it could have been.

And Div wouldn't have wanted Trever to die alone, no matter what he'd done.

He rested a hand on X-7's shoulder. “You mattered. Brother.”

The ghost of a smile crossed X-7's face. He closed his eyes. Div's hand stayed where it was, rising and falling with X-7's shallow breaths, until the breaths stopped.

“He's gone,” Ferus said softly behind him.

Div had almost forgotten he was there. “Good riddance,” Div said harshly. He stood up. “Let's get out of here before this place blows.” Luke was gone. They had thirty minutes—if Luke had set the timer as planned. But nothing else had gone as planned. So they fled the building, Ferus's flashing lightsaber cutting down the few Imperials foolish enough to step into their path. Div's wound throbbed with every step, but he ignored the pain.

They ran side by side, their footfalls in sync. But when they finally stopped, a safe distance away from the garrison, Div turned his back before Ferus could speak.

“Div.” Ferus reached for him. Div jerked away. “You're angry,” Ferus said. “What is it?”

I'm always angry,
Div thought. From their perch on a nearby hill, he watched the garrison, waiting for it to burst into flame. Picturing the look on X-7's face just before the life drained from his eyes.

The building exploded. The ground shook. Flames licked the sky.

It's all happening again,
Div thought. Watching an explosion from the hills while his brother's body burned.
Not my brother,
he thought.
But someone's.

“Aren't you angry?” he finally asked without looking at Ferus. “He sent your friends into an ambush. If we hadn't stopped him just now, he would have murdered Luke.”

“You're not angry at him,” Ferus said with that maddening Jedi certainty. “You're angry at yourself. For being misled?” He narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “No, I don't think that's it.”

“Do you need me here for this conversation?” Div asked irritably. “Seems like you already have all the answers.”

Ferus just waited. Div could be a patient man, but he had the feeling that Ferus could wait forever. And while it would be easy enough to turn his back and leave...he didn't.

“Yes, I'm angry!” he spat out. “That I let him die thinking he was Trever. That I let myself...”

“That you let yourself think he was Trever,” Ferus prompted. “Even for just a moment. You let yourself hope. Nothing wrong with that.”

“It was a stupid, childish fantasy,” Div growled. “Coincidences like that only happen in storybooks. In real life, you lose people, they stay lost. The galaxy doesn't bring them back to you. Your precious Force doesn't make the galaxy any less empty.”

“It's less empty now,” Ferus said. “Now that the Force has brought you back to me. And me back to you.”

Div snorted. “And what good is that? We're both broken, Ferus. Or haven't you noticed?”

“The Force doesn't always give us what we want, or even what we need,” Ferus said. “But it always gives us something we can use. To survive.”

“And that's exactly what we do,” Div said bitterly. “Survive. Good for us.”

“Yes, Lune.”

Div didn't correct the name. And when Ferus put a hand on his shoulder, Div didn't shrug him off. Ferus smiled sadly. “Good for us.”

The garrison was burning, a towering inferno that set the horizon ablaze. The stormtroopers in the surrounding hills had abandoned their fight with the Rebels and were doing their best to combat the flames. But it was no use. Slowly but surely, the garrison was crumbling to the ground. It was just one building—but it was enough to spark a fire in the heart of every Belazuran who chafed at Imperial control.

As word of the successful attack spread around the city, the Belazurans remembered what it had been like ten years before, when they'd still had the will to fight. And as they remembered, their courage returned to them. They laid down their fusioncutters and their servodrivers. They stepped away from their assembly lines of Imperial weapons. Some took to the streets, throwing rocks at their Imperial guards or slamming furniture through the windows of Imperial quarters. Others lit a match. And smoke choked the sky.

As day dropped into night, Luke stood on the hill, watching it happen. Watching a city reclaim its soul. The Empire would fight back; it always did. And maybe it would destroy this uprising as it had destroyed the others.

But as the factories burned and the skies glowed with reflected flames, Luke couldn't help hoping—that this time, the fire would last.